Crocodile Tears
by Kyuseisha no Hikari
Summary: When it takes only a single argument for your world to crumble, you know you've been doing something wrong.


**Crocodile Tears**

_When it takes only a single argument for your world to crumble, you know you've been doing something wrong._

_Warnings: AU, swearing, yaoi_

Chapter 1

…

It was a stupid fight. All their fights were stupid. And there was always something stupid to fight about.

Spending too many nights over at a friends house, not calling enough, not paying the bills on time, needing more 'space', wanting more alone time, working too many hours, not working enough hours, too much sex, not enough sex—it seemed that just when everything was working out well, when they should have been happy, something was always there to set one of them off again.

Today's fight had been more rational than yesterday's, where Krad had been complaining about needing a new couch. Personally, Dark thought there was nothing wrong with the couch; he rather liked the stains. It gave it character. But Krad insisted and then they'd both ended up accusing each other of having too much shit lying around the house and ignoring each other until bed time.

Today it was Dark's turn to initiate the drama, though Krad had been subtly provoking him since they woke up in the morning. There were dishes in the sink—it was Dark's week for dishes and he hadn't done them. Again. All he'd wanted was some coffee, so when Krad couldn't even find a clean glass for his, he was already starting his days out with a fuse. He purposefully made as much noise as he could, banging dishes together as he washed them with unnecessary force.

Dark came out, yawning and scratching his stomach with one hand, wiping his eyes with the other. "Krad," he said, realizing how rigid and vicious the blonde's actions were. "…Chill out, I'll get them later."

"If you could _get them later_ you should have _done them last night_," the blonde returned, bitterness quite obvious in his voice. The low growl wasn't entirely intentional, though Krad had always had a sort or gravelly voice upon waking up; it was completely unlike the silky, alluring voice he spoke with when awake.

Dark rolled his eyes; they'd been over this before. "I'll get them. Just get your coffee and go sit down. It's not worth getting upset about."

"No? We'll have cockroaches. Bugs. I don't want more pests around here than I already have!"

Dark blinked, realizing only now how truly agitated Krad was. And over something so irrelevant as the dishes?

…Seriously, Krad needed to chill out.

"I'll make breakfast, just go sit down and turn on the weather channel, flip through the news, all the things you're supposed to do in the morning. Don't take out your frustration on the dishes."

"I wouldn't _have_ any frustration if you just pulled your weight around here!" Krad huffed as he continued to scrub at the fourth mug his hand had grabbed from the pile.

"Hey," Dark said, agitated that the first thing he was getting in the morning was _not_ a 'good morning' or a sweet little kiss on the cheek. "First of all, I _do_ pull my weight, and—"

Krad's scoff sent his anger flaring so he concluded, "Fine, clean the damn dishes. It's your life, whatever. Throw your bitch fit."

He showed no remorse for snatching up his favorite mug—one Krad may or may not have intentionally chosen to wash and filled it up halfway with the aromatic black liquid. He went to the fridge and pulled out some milk and creamer, adding these to his breakfast beverage before dropping in a few cubes of sugar. Snatching a spoon, he walked away stirring the lukewarm drink.

Apparently Krad had expected him to stay and argue for a bit longer since he continued to fume. Fifteen minutes later, Dark rejoined him in the kitchen, not amused that Krad was still working. Despite the fact that he was almost done, Dark asked, "Don't you have work today? Shouldn't you get a move on? You can't afford to be late again if you don't want to get fired."

"Like you?" Krad scowled, shooting him a cold look.

Once again moved to the defensive and, resting one hand on his hip and the other on the counter he was leaning against, Dark countered, "I didn't get fired. The place was downsizing. You _know_ that. Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?"

"The point is, _you_ don't have a job and you're taking four less credit hours than me _and_ you still don't clean the house. Dark!" He sighed, exasperated, and added in an exhausted voice, "What the hell?"

"Well, _excuse _me for not being perfect. I'm looking for a job. And just because you have more classes than I do doesn't mean mine aren't harder."

"They aren't," Krad said bluntly, eyes narrowing.

"Oh. Yeah, because you would know that."

Krad set down the sponge and the dish he was cleaning. "Why are you giving me lip? You can't _honestly_ tell me the things I've said aren't true. You don't do your laundry, you don't clean up after dinner—when you _do_ cook, you don't pay your share of the bills on time, you never put gas in the car, you never study, you never—"

"—Cut it out, Krad. If you've got something to say just _say_ it. Don't just wait until you're ready to blow a gasket and then start blabbing all this shit, you're not being fair. You're not perfect either!"

Krad gave him a testy look. "I didn't say I was perfect, just—"

"Just pointed out how _imperfect_ I was, yeah? What the hell did you expect? You—You have your own fair share of annoying traits," he began, so angry that he was unable to even be pleased when Krad was quiet and let him talk. "You're whiney," he started, you complain when things aren't _perfect_, you brood and sulk and throw temper tantrums and break things, yell at me because _I_ have a life outside of you—because _I_ have friends and free time and like to spend it with _them_ because half the time you _really_ pick at my nerves. You're _jealous_ that I've got friends, jealous that I have free time and _jealous_ that I have fun! All you do is work, work, work and then you yell at me for playing! I'd go mad if I didn't have Daisuke and just had to deal with you all the time, you're crazy!"

He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, shooting a glare in another direction before he paused and glanced back at Krad when there was no response. Krad's golden eyes were focused intently on him and while he didn't seem to be studying him, Dark could still see the cogs ticking in the male's head. Finally, Krad stood up straight. "You're an asshole."

"Oh, _I'm_ the asshole? You're the one that started this, Krad. Don't give what you can't take. I'm not going to sit around and let you bitch me out, it doesn't work like that."

"I'm not _crazy_," Krad hissed, unexpected anger frothing from his person as he shoved Dark. It wasn't enough to cause harm but was enough to express what words could not.

"Hey," Dark said, stumbling just slightly; he caught himself easily enough and shot a glare at Krad. "_Watch it_," he hissed. "Or I _will_ beat your pretty face in. Don't think that just because you _look_ like a girl doesn't mean I won't hit you."

Krad let out a low growl and balled his hands into fists. It looked as though he were about to attack Dark before he turned and lashed out at the first thing he saw—his clean mug, filled with fresh coffee and yet otherwise untouched. He'd poured it to let it cool while he did the dishes but had been so engrossed in finishing the task that during his fuming he'd forgotten about it. Swiping his hand through the air, it collided with the mug and shattered when it hit the floor, brown liquid spilling everywhere. Krad stepped over it and went to the front door, grabbing the car keys as he slid on his shoes; he slammed the door so loudly behind him that the picture frame hanging only inches away was shaken loose from the nail it hung from.

Dark stared blankly, though it was a mixture of ideas and emotions coursing through him.

He knew already that this had been the last straw. He was tired of bickering, tired of the broken glass, tired of Krad keeping things to himself until he exploded with no real reason and no way of calming him down until he'd either broken everything in sight or he'd been exhausted after an hour or two of angry sex. It didn't always seem like the thing he should be doing; on more than a few occasions Krad should have been crying instead of yanking Dark into the bedroom so he could work out his frustrations by catering to his masochistic tendencies. But Dark had always complied and always held him afterwards, even if Krad was silent or tried to push him away. It was an awkward relationship that he wondered should have stayed a good friendship.

Right now he wasn't even sure why he was still friends with Krad.

Nothing was right and everything seemed wrong. This little argument had blasted his ego, leaving Dark most displeased. And he wanted to get out. Not just for a breather, but he wanted to get _out_. For good. He picked up the phone in a shaky hand, drew in a breath and called Daisuke. Twenty minutes later, he was packing.

Gone for five hours, Dark had almost thought he was going to get away with leaving without having to give some awkward explanation, but he knew Krad deserved a goodbye at least. It had taken him nearly an hour to run to get some cardboard boxes from the post office—only a fifteen minute walk to get there, but the lines were awful and everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It wasn't enough of a sign for him to stop, though. As he packed he thought of every line he would say to Krad, every insult, every apology. With each fresh rehearsal he grew more and more convinced that this was the right thing to do. He'd made a mental list of their relationships and the pros were severely less than the cons.

And he didn't want to lose his best friend, but…

How are you supposed to be friends with someone that can't even tell you what's bothering them? With someone as cynical and jaded as Krad could be—someone as moody and borderline aggressive?

Maybe they just needed a break. A long break.

If the break never ended…Dark wasn't going to blame anyone. Life was full of twists and turns and his anger prevented him from feeling any remorse, guilt or sorrow for his choice of actions. Adrenaline kept him focused only on how great it was going to be to move out of this house—to go live with Daisuke and someone who wasn't going to bicker and nag him for every little thing.

He wasn't sure how long he might end up staying with Daisuke and his family, but he knew that they would accept them warmly. They always did; Dark had been a large part of the Niwa family since the day he moved in next door to them; Emiko and his mother had been distant cousins, but the difference in blood meant nothing—Dark was family to them just as they were to him. Already Daisuke was preparing a room for him, so Dark took great comfort in the fact that he had close friends so readily available.

He was working on collecting his things in the living room when the front door open and Krad stepped in holding a rather large brown paper bag to his chest. At first he seemed inclined to not notice Dark, however as he moved from kicking his shoes off by the door to the kitchen and noticing Dark shoving a few school books into an already full box he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Packing," Dark answered, heart pounding in his chest. Five hours hadn't been enough to calm him down, it seemed; the moment Krad stepped foot in their shared apartment his body had heated up and he was preparing for another fight.

"Are you going some where?" Krad asked slowly; he was still clutching the bag to his chest, holding it delicately in both arms as he stood in the living room.

"As a matter of fact," Dark said, standing up and wiping at his brow with the back of his hand as if to disperse of some sort of accumulated sweat, "I am."

Krad raised a brow and nodded slowly; he glanced around the room and could see the kitchen was missing a few things. Dark's miscellaneous toys and random trinkets were no longer lying atop the island that separated the kitchen from the living room, nor did it appear that much of his stuff was anywhere. Except for the boxes. "And where is that?"

"…Look," Dark said, sighing. "…I'm done."

Krad stared for a few seconds with a dull, bored look. "…Done?"

Mildly irked that he was playing stupid—or perhaps agitated that Krad really didn't seem to be following—Dark grit his teeth and resumed shoving his books into the box, trying to make them all fit. "Yeah, Krad. Done. I can't do this any more. I'm moving out."

Krad stared for a few seconds longer, mouth slowly opening. Before he could speak, Dark made sure to add, "I'm going to live with Daisuke. I can't handle this shit any more."

Like a statue, sans for his eyes, Krad didn't move. "No," he insisted.

"Uh, _no_? Excuse me? You don't own my life, you can't tell me '_no_'. I'll do what I want to do, and right now I want to leave."

Slightly flustered and yet strangely calm, Krad watched. It took nearly a full minute for him to further protest, "You promised me forever. Two years _isn't_ forever!"

A pain shot through Dark's heart. Yeah, when they had first started dating he had said they'd be together forever, but…it was a mistake he sincerely regretted. Realizing that Krad expected an answer, he blurted, "Yeah, but it's felt like it. I'm done, Krad. Sorry. I can't deal with you anymore."

The blonde's emotions were finally leaking through the façade of calm. He spoke with a tone of anger and underlying hurt, "You can't just walk out on me!"

Dark's mind did a quick check, reminding him that arguing with Krad when he said cryptic things that always alluded to more than what they were was a bad idea. To try and keep Krad from further hysteria, he spoke calmly, "That's not what this is."

"Well what _is _it? You're breaking up with me. Aren't you?" he demanded; Dark didn't miss the insecurity behind the words but he had to force himself to overlook it.

He was doing what was best for himself—he had to. Better than going crazy or saying anything else that he didn't mean. He was just going to get out of there, leave, and maybe they could talk later. If either of them wanted to take a blow to their ego and suck up their pride for long enough for humility to settle in and allow them to apologize.

But were they breaking up? His rolled the question over in his mind; it was sudden and unexpected, and even though he'd said he was moving out he hadn't quite realized that it would mean breaking up. Is that what he wanted?

He barely had time to think before his lips were moving for him. Rolling duct tape over the top of the severely overstuffed cardboard box, Dark answered without ever looking up. "…Yeah. I guess so."

Krad said nothing as he watched Dark sever a strip of tape from the roll it was attached to, finally sealing the box completely. There was no sign was he was thinking, and even if there were, Dark wasn't sure he wanted to know. The silence was devastating, however, so he chose to break it the first way that came to mind. "I'm taking Wiz.'"  
Krad still stared, though the look in his eyes was suddenly of confusion and mild disdain. "You can't take Wiz," he stated quite matter-of-factly.

Attempting to protest, Dark began, "Krad—"

"I bought him," Krad bluntly interrupted. "I feed him, I clean his cage, take him for check ups. I want to keep him."

Dark sighed, exasperated, pausing from shoving his things deeper into the box. "Krad, he doesn't like you. I can take care of him just like you do, but he's not going to love you like he does me."

Lip curling into a sneer, it was the only way Krad could hide the flinch. Yes, he knew the damnable little rabbit didn't like him, but it was the principle of the matter—that Dark was just going to come and go as he pleased, taking whatever he liked in the process.

Words to keep his best friend of twelve years and boyfriend of two eluded him like any sane person would the plague. They'd only been living with each other for this past year, and there was an ever increasing tension that couldn't be denied in addition to the stress of the first year of college. Deciding to split the apartment together was supposed to be a good thing—a sign of how close they were and of their ever blossoming relationship, but instead of getting better, it had only gotten worse.

Krad finally set down the brown paper bag he held without ever bothering to go through its contents; he glanced at the barstools next to the island the bag now rested on and slowly moved to sit in stool, resting his elbows heavily atop the marble surface. He held his head between his hands as he looked down at the dark, reflective surface.

Dark had time to glance at him for only a moment before he turned away and went back into the bedroom to get the last of his clothes. Plucking them from their shared closet, he was reminded once again of how different they were, from the colors to the arrangement of the clothes on the hangers. Dark's clothes barely clung to the plastic they were hanging from; half of his clothes were wrinkled and in disarray from a lack of interest in getting them out of the dryer promptly. Krad's clothes were all smooth, devoid of wrinkles and hanging arranged according to a method Dark would never understand. Krad's clothes were nearly all monochrome, if not simply white. While Dark's clothes were mostly black, he had his own assortment of colors.

As he reached for what appeared to be the last shirt, the tips of his fingers brushed against the soft fabric of one of Krad's shirts and he was compelled to draw it out. A smile would have appeared on his face on any other occasion; it was a shirt he'd never seen Krad wear—and he knew perfectly why. At one of the many kiosks in the local college mall he'd taken a photograph he'd had of the two and had it printed on a t-shirt.

It wasn't exactly the most flattering picture—not by any means, though Dark had enjoyed the callous look on Krad's face as he was placing a large, quite sloppy kiss on the blonde's cheek. Krad's face was still tense and filled with the agitation remaining from the fight they'd had earlier that day, too, but Dark was in a good mood when he snapped the photograph. In bold letters beneath the image stated 'DARK + KRAD = BFF'

Shaking his head, Dark grabbed the shirt, suddenly feeling ashamed that he'd ever had it made. It seemed so childish. Still angry at Krad, he didn't want to leave the now stagnant and almost bitter memory just hanging here to be the first thing Krad saw when he went to change.

Admittedly, for the next twenty minutes as he walked around the room, going through things, he tried to find more that he needed to pack, though in his heart he already knew what possessions he owned were stored in the boxes. Reluctantly, ten minutes after four, he stepped back out into the living room. He eyed Krad out of the corner of his eyes, not quite sure what to make of the man that was still sitting in the same position he'd left him in. He walked with heavy footsteps through the front door though was silent otherwise. Running downstairs, he went to the parking lot and opened the back door, pushing it in. He made three more trips like that before he walked upstairs to get the last box; Krad had not moved an inch in any of the times Dark had returned nor left, so he was curious as to what the blonde was up to when he heard a rustle and then a crash. He waited a few seconds, hand hovering over the brass doorknob before he pushed it open. When he looked at Krad, the blonde was in the same position and it took a few moments to register that it was the bag that had made the noise. It seemed that Krad had pushed it and its contents directly into the wastebasket.

Dark stood for a few seconds before he decided to waste some time; inside he was still broiling, pent up from their fight, but he hated that Krad was saying nothing. He knew fighting more wasn't going to help, but he didn't want this to be over so _soon_. Snatching up his last box, and tucking Wiz under one arm, he took his load downstairs. Krad said nothing as Dark closed the door behind himself, and while it frustrated him, even as he was walking downstairs he strained to think of _something_ he could have left behind. It hit him—his tooth brush. Rushing to place the last box and resting Wiz gently in the front seat, patting the rabbit's head, he then ran back upstairs. This time Krad had moved just slightly; his eyes were closed and he was massaging his temples. When the door swung open, narrowly avoiding hitting the wall, he opened his amber eyes to look at Dark.

Dark offered no explanation as he stepped through the room, though he felt Krad's eyes plastered to his back. Grabbing his toothbrush, he drew in a breath, fixed his hair and then walked back. His eyes were on the front door and each step he took felt heavier than the last. His heart was pounding in his ears and his chest felt like there was a hook sunk deeply in his heart. This was the end? He was finally getting out of this wreck of a relationship—moving on.

His hand was once again on the doorstep and he pried it open when he heard Krad draw in a breath. "Happy anniversary."

Dark's is blood chilled at the tone—he recognized it almost instantly. Krad had his share of fits and outbursts, though very rarely did he hear such simply raw emotion. This was the first time he thought he heard true, unbridled regret and hurt in Krad's voice.

But it was too late to garner sympathy. It didn't matter if they'd had years together, years of frustration and happiness, wound hand in hand, years of love and hate. Dark opened the door the rest of the way thought paused in the door frame. He didn't turn around, though said before stepping out and closing the door behind him, "Happy anniversary, Krad." 


End file.
